


dimitri gets pegged: the saga

by monado (orphan_account)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward Sex, Blow Jobs, F/M, Post-Game, Praise Kink, Submissive Dimitri, first time getting fingerblasted, sappy couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 16:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20696474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/monado
Summary: Byleth frowns. “You know I don't have the equipment for that.”Dimitri shrinks in on himself. Her bluntness has always flustered him; for all his height, he looks to be very, very small. “There exists- equipment.” Byleth fosters a pointed silence, to try and prod him into elaborating, but he refuses to speak.“Okay.”He peeks up. “Okay,” he repeats, seemingly mystified.





	dimitri gets pegged: the saga

**Author's Note:**

> lol

“Huh,” is all she says, cradling her chin with a hand. Dimitri’s face is hidden behind his own. What she can see of it is beet red.

Now, Dimitri has always favoured being passive in bed, but she had always assumed it was borne from a sense of unworthiness, or from fear of his own strength. Both of these would be things for them to work through, together, with love and forgiveness guiding their hands.

It seems that she was way off the mark.

It started with her husband pinned against the door, leaned down to meet her. His groans are as music to her ears, and she draws as many out as she can, teasing his lips with her teeth and pushing circles into his chest.

A momentary break in the routine, and Byleth spots something odd in the air. She gazes at Dimitri with inquisitive eyes, who seems, suddenly, shy.

Stroking his cheeks with both thumbs, Byleth tries to meet his fixed stare, but he dodges her completely. Feeling a pang, Byleth opens her mouth. “Is it okay?”

Normally, that would be all it'd take for Dimitri to snap back into it, to sever his ties to the momentary grasp of self-hatred. But this time, he simply reddens further. Byleth frowns. 

“Beloved?”

Dimitri’s eye darts up to meet hers. “I want you to take me,” he blurts, and then covers his face with his hands.

Heat pools in her gut, but confusion dwells, weightless, too. She hums, prompting a response.

“In- the-” He struggles to articulate, in a distinctly non-Dimitri way. “In a non-traditional sense,” he manages.

She tilts her head. “How so.”

“With- in-” He groans. Silence pads their conversation for a few moments. “The way I take you.”

It’s a mumble. Byleth frowns. “You know I don't have the equipment for that.”

Dimitri shrinks in on himself. Her bluntness has always flustered him; for all his height, he looks to be very, very small. “There exists- equipment.” Byleth fosters a pointed silence, to try and prod him into elaborating, but he refuses to speak. 

“Okay.”

He peeks up. “Okay,” he repeats, seemingly mystified. “Is- that's all? You're not- hesitant?”

Byleth cocks her head. “Why would I be?”

Dimitri peeks between his fingers. He blinks before dropping his hands. “What do you mean? It's shameful. It- I…” He huffs, mouth twisted into a frown.

Understanding fails to dawn on her. “Do I not usually take the upper hand anyway?” She stares, brows furrowed. “This is merely an extension.”

Looking at once both less and more embarrassed, her husband sputters, then stops. He laughs quietly, gazing at Byleth with a devotion that makes her heart jump. “I should have known you wouldn't allow me to be caught up in petty worries,” he says, smile wry and voice fond. Byleth can feel a smile work its way up her cheeks. Her husband averts his gaze, quickly, and his face escalates back into redness. “I- I wouldn't mind- I would _ like _ to work up to it, though.”

A wave of pride fills her at the quick correction -- they've been working on letting Dimitri _ want. _Coming forward like this must have taken quite some nerve from him, and it's a step in the right direction. Fondness buoys her movements as she strokes along the line of his chin. “Of course, dearest,” she says, and savours the embarrassed joy that spreads across his face.

She pulls him down again, pressing feather-light kisses to his mouth. “Do you have it,” she asks, between kisses.

It's a testament to their bond that he knows immediately to what she refers, even after the distraction. “I- No,” he blurts, looking mildly offended, “I didn't want to presume.”

Byleth can feel her eyes soften. Kissing the corner of his mouth, she smiles. “It's never a presumption. I’m willing to try anything you think you might like.”

Dimitri’s face breaks into a soft, wide smile. “Beloved,” is all he says, before leaning down to pepper her face, her nose, her jaw with kisses. They tickle, and Byleth laughs.

They slow to a stop, and they simply fall into holding each other, swaying slightly in pent-up energy. Byleth begins to hum, and she can feel her husband melt around her. 

She does so for a while before trailing off. With the end of her song, so too goes the swaying. She looks up at him, meeting his adoring gaze. “So, what did you mean? By working your way up to it?”

His face floods. “Well,” he starts, clearly trying to maintain control over his voice, “I. Well.” He laughs, quietly, twirling her towards their bed in an exaggerated movement. “You know I'm no good at these things,” he sighs. “Can I- show you? Instead?”

Bashful is a good look on him. Byleth nods, giving him an encouraging smile. He lets go of her hand with great reluctance, shuffling around the bed to the side table. He slides open the drawer as Byleth hops up onto the bed, making herself comfortable -- when he turns, he is red again.

Dwarfed by the size of his palm sits a rectangular tin. He fidgets with it briefly, sinking down onto his side of the bed. Byleth scoots forward, wrapping her arms around his broad torso and resting her head on his shoulder. Showing affection is something _she’s_ been working on. It goes over well, she thinks, since he even lifts a hand to cover hers.

She watches him fidget and steel himself. He starts to turn so she lets him go, and he holds up the tin, barely making eye contact. “This,” he starts, “Is for…”

Sensing her confusion, he pries off the lid and offers her the contents. She immediately sticks a finger in, and it comes out slippery and wet. 

“Oh,” she says, connecting the dots. It's not terribly embarrassing, but she does redden a little, still.

Dimitri won't say anything. He has his head turned so that his blind side is shielding him. 

Byleth immediately decides.

Draping herself over him, grasping his jaw and gently guiding his lips to her mouth, she revels in the touch. His hands slide up her back and she shivers. Softness, warmth, and what feels overwhelmingly like _ home _ bombard her as she works his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip to fish for that consistent gasp, a quick intake of air that has her feeling dizzy. 

A breath of what she thinks is her name is all she needs to escalate. Sliding her hands along both of Dimitri’s cheeks, she sits up on her knees and cradles his head as she kisses him, slow and long and demanding. His breaths are hot, his tongue scalding; she coaxes it out with ease, drinking in the low moans like she is parched. 

It's easy to get lost in the motions, to continue and continue until something snaps, but today she has an agenda.

She runs her hands around and under his shirt, bites his lip at his ensuing noise. He pants into her mouth, and she doesn’t let him stop — she rubs her thumbs into his chest, drifting upwards — and twists a nipple aggressively. Dimitri arches off the bed, eyes closed hard, brows furrowed from the pain. Byleth coos gently, petting his chest, feeling him heave. 

“B-Byleth,” he whispers, strained. She smiles. He comes undone so fast. 

Sitting back, she tugs his shirt up, and he acquiesces to the silent request. She lets her eyes wander along the planes of his torso, hunger sparking deep within her.

He swallows, throat bobbing. “Beloved,” he tries, and she smiles gently. They can never be too rough with each other, no matter how much they like it — they always get caught up in moments like these. 

She shakes her head. Her husband’s eyes darken in response to her own, and she descends on him again.

Kissing down his throat, she puts a hand gently on the underside of his chin, giving the illusion of control. Dimitri groans, vibrations as music on Byleth’s lips. It’s plenty of encouragement for her to open her mouth, to press her teeth against the skin — at a whimper, she bites down, abdomen roaring with heat as Dimitri whines in rapture.

She bites down the side of his neck, cognizant of the positioning of his normal attire (as much as they love this, she wouldn’t want to embarrass him), until she can’t bear it anymore. Running her hands down his middle and into the soft, fine thatch of hair has his breath hitching; slipping her fingers under the waistband has him staring down pleadingly. He looks so desperate, so _ submissive_.

Byleth yanks down the band, tugging it up and over. His dick springs free, and Byleth can’t help but watch his face as it immediately reddens entirely. A flash of guilt is clear as day across his eye. He bites his lip, as if he’s about to say something-

“It’s alright, my love,” she says, smiling at him. “I enjoy this as much as you do.”

She punctuates her sentence by pressing the pads of her fingers to the tip. Dimitri’s eye swims with pleasure for a moment and he huffs a laugh.

“I love you.”

Byleth smiles. “Then let me do this for you.”

He freezes.

Ah. His head is turned, gaze fixed on the little tin. Nerves are clear in the line of his body.

She wasn’t planning on diving right into it, but now moreso than ever. Dimitri is so tense; it couldn’t possibly go well. She runs her hand down his flank, feeling the tight muscle ripple under her touch. 

Byleth hums. In a smooth motion, she lowers herself, breathes against his dick. He groans, arching off the bed, looking at her with such helplessness in his eye.

Well then, it's up to her to care for him, isn't it?

She tongues the slit. His hips jerk, but he's forever aware of her comfort, and he stills them immediately. The taste is heavy and still-foreign, having only done this a handful of times, but she wouldn't complain -- it's the taste of Dimitri’s pleasure, after all.

She pumps him from the base up, and marvels in his reaction. He fullbody shakes, fingers bunching up into the sheets, and lets out the sweetest _ ah. _Driven by the response, she lowers her head, lapping around the head and sucking hard.

A loud moan is her reward for that. Soon enough, she’s bobbing her head, sucking and drooling around him, gaze locked onto his. Dimitri chokes around noises of pleasure; when he tries to cover his mouth, she gives a pointed suck, and the buck up into her throat is the sweetest acquiescence. 

When he grips her hair, she slows. Popping off of him with a loud noise, she licks her lips. He stares down at her, teeth clenched as if in pain.

“Byleth- Byleth-“

“I know,” she coos, and crawls up to kiss him. She hopes he can taste himself on her tongue as strongly as she can.

Using the kiss as a distraction, she slides the tin down the bed. She had hoped she would be sneaky about it, but Dimitri just looks at her and smiles, wobbly and fondly.

He swallows, and she can feel the shift of his legs falling apart. “Beloved,” he starts, and pets her hair, unable to help himself, “I’m ready.”

Nothing sounds as sweet as those words.

Byleth flashes him a smile — it must have come out more predatory than not, because Dimitri flushes even redder. Drunk off of the surge of power, she settles between his legs, and pulls his underwear the rest of the way off. 

“You too,” he breathes, sitting up to help.

She taps his hands lightly. “You lay back,” she says, and he does so far too quickly and bangs the back of his head on the headboard.

She can’t help herself from laughing.

Dimitri looks so embarrassed but so, so fond, as she removes her shirt. “We always get sidetracked, don’t we?”

Making sure he doesn’t soften, Byleth pulls her hand up his spit-slick length. “Not for long,” she promises. He rolls his head back, breathing heavy, and she admires the mismatched bruises she’s left in her wake.

Giving his dick a quick kiss, she pries open the tin, rubbing the oil between her fingers to warm it. Dimitri threatens to tense up again, so she runs her hand around his pelvic area, gratified when a wave of goosebumps follow. 

She strokes him lazily, calmly, tries to project an aura of confidence. “Are you ready?”

A beat passes. “Yes.”

She presses a finger to the ring of muscle. Dimitri sucks in a breath, shifts away from her.

“This will only work if you _ want _ it, my love.”

He quickly looks down at her, indignant. “It’s just strange. I-” A quiet groan cuts him off as she starts to gently pet the area, pushing circles into it. “It’s strange,” he repeats, sounding bashful.

Byleth bites her lip. She wants him to forget his nerves, to forget his embarrassment — to forget his name. 

She takes him into her mouth again, sucking gently. She looks up, searching for confirmation, and gets it, her husband nodding shyly. 

Pushing a finger against him, she takes him deeper down her throat before increasing the pressure. Dimitri rumbles, legs falling apart, breathing quickly. Byleth consciously slows her breaths to compensate. 

When she pushes just a bit harder, she breaches him. She’s as surprised as he is, despite everything. He looks down over his chest, eye wide.

“You’re- you’re in?”

“Yes.”

He wiggles his hips. It’s such a cute motion that it takes Byleth out of the situation for a quick moment, and she almost laughs. “Can you… continue?”

She kisses his thigh. “Anything for you.”

He might’ve flushed red at that, but Byleth is too busy staring between his legs to notice. She slips her finger in further, jerking him off slowly, watching as her finger disappears into him. 

She hums. “You’re doing well,” she says, meaning it, and looks up quickly when he moans. “Did I find-” she’s suddenly aware that she has no idea how this works, “it?”

“No,” he mumbles, which may or may not confirm that there is an _it._

Pushing in deeper, she watches as her first knuckle disappears. It comes up to almost the second before Dimitri interrupts.

“It feels so odd,” is all he has to say. Byleth replies with a quick _ mhm _before smiling.

“I wonder if you’re feeling what it’s like for me, or if it’s different, somehow.”

He laughs haltingly. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, and Byleth frowns.

“Give me a moment,” she demands, readjusting and redoubling her focus. She slides her finger out, slathers it in some more oil, and slips it back in, palm facing upwards this time, applying some of the same principles as when she touches herself-

Dimitri jolts, crying out, throwing his head back. He looks down at her in alarm. “That was.” He pants. “Again. Please.”

Biting her lip to stifle a smile, she does it again, watches him writhe and thrash, does it again, does it again. The sweetest keens reverberate through the room, sounds she’s never heard before. Dimitri’s pushing his hips down in earnest now, and she meets the movements with hard thrusts and curls.

A litany of moans descends as she continues, and she throbs, echoing it herself. Dimitri throws his arm up to grasp the pillow, looking tortured by pleasure.

“A- am I,” a groan interrupts him, “Am I doing good?”

Something slots into place. His affinity for praise back at the Academy, always followed by shy fleeting glances. Byleth huffs a laugh. 

She learns something new every day.

“Yes,” she breathes, and he chokes. “You're such a good boy.” A sob breaks from Dimitri, and panic laces through her.

She stops, slipping her fingers out and sitting up over him. “You okay?” 

Catching his breath, he meets her gaze, eye watery and dazed. “Yes,” he says, but it comes out as more of a squeak. Embarrassment spreads across his face as Byleth giggles, using her clean hand to stroke his face. He clears his throat. “Yes,” he repeats, turning into her touch.

She files away the sob into the Good Dimitri Noises section of her brain. Momentum broken, she sits back, feeling like a bit of a fool. “Sorry,” she says, averting her gaze.

Her husband sits up, reaching for her face. “Beloved. Thank you for checking.” His face is tender, raw and open and flushed with warmth. “I truly don't deserve you,” he murmurs, reverently stroking his thumb across her cheek.

Byleth frowns. A strategy flashes behind her eyelids in the space of a blink.

She gently lowers his hand. First things first. “Do you want to continue?”

Dimitri reddens instantly, and Byleth watches his dick twitch. He nods, swallowing.

She nods too. “Okay,” she says, and sits back. “Lean back.”

He obeys. His knees are up, though, perhaps to maintain some semblance of control.

She wants to destroy that.

“Legs open,” she demands, voice deep.

The response is immediate. Her husband shifts, slowly spreading his knees, falling open in front of her. His cock is heavy and red, his ass leaking lubricant. She aches to touch.

But she won't. “Tell me what you want.”

His body flushes. Dimitri lets out a shuddering breath, chest heaving. He stumbles over his words, embarrassment and propriety tangling his tongue.

“Tell me.”

His gaze slips to hers. “T-touch me,” he breathes, and Byleth slides forward. 

“Good,” she breathes. She watches him bite his lip, hard enough to whiten the pink flesh. “Where?” She rubs circles into his abdomen, just to watch it jump.

“You- know where,” he mumbles, avoiding her eyes.

She gives him a deadpan stare. “Giving me lip, are you?” She smooths her hand up his chest, sweeping down and around his nipples but never touching. “Do you want to be good?”

“Y-Yes,” he says, almost quickly enough to have cut her off. He tilts his head back, trying to hide his face. It's a nice sentiment, but his body is bared to her, trembling and taut.

“Where.”

He swallows. Byleth watches it travel down his taut throat. “F-Finger me,” he says, voice thin. “Please.”

Byleth smiles. A simple uttering of “good boy” has him clenching his toes, moaning into the heated air. The wetness between her legs throbs and pulses in response.

She reaches back over him to the tin, slathering her fingers in the oil once more. Returning to her station, she drags around his opening with one hand, massaging his thigh with the other. He shakes under her touch, pushing his hips down towards her.

“Patience,” she murmurs, and is instantly gratified when he stills. His chest heaves, and he looks over it desperately, eye desperate and frantic. He whines. Perhaps she’s teased him too much.

It’s worth it when she slips a finger in up to the second knuckle, whispering _ good, _and he full-body bucks. It feels like he’s pulling her in, squirming and gasping like it's their first time again. 

“More?” she murmurs, leaning as far over him as the position allows. He nods frantically, moaning a _ yes, _so she slides the rest of her finger in, eased by his desperation and willingness. 

She teases it in and out, purposefully avoiding going too deep. He moans under her, quiet but reverent. His cock jumps at every push in, perhaps in anticipation, but she never gives him what he waits for. She simply kisses his abdomen, rubs his thighs, and slides in and out. He is beautiful.

“_Please,_” her husband moans, and her resolve breaks. She speeds up, stuffing another finger into him, and crooks upward, hard -- he jumps and shouts, voice breaking and stuttering. 

It's more than enough encouragement. She pushes into him fast and hard, striking that spot as best she can with every thrust. Dimitri moans and shakes, head thrown back, lost in rapture as he jolts. His cock is heavy and hot when she touches it, grazing her fingers along it. “Here?” she says, teasing the head and smearing around the slit, pounding her fingers in all the while. Her husband groans, almost growls_ . _

“_Yes,_” he hisses, “M-More.”

Then more she shall give.

She pumps him, once, twice, three times, in time with her fingers, before lowering her head and laving her tongue over the head of his cock. She can immediately feel his eyes on her, so she looks up as best she can. He's not going to last much longer, not with the way his eye waters, not with the way he’s gripping -- no, ripping -- the sheets. 

Licking her lips, she takes him in, lapping under the head and dipping her tongue into the slit. His moans are intoxicating, his gaze even moreso. His brows furrow, his mouth hangs open, and Byleth can swear she sees a trickle of spit from the side of his mouth. She lowers her now-free hand, unbearably hot, and rubs herself in frantic jerky motions. She licks a stripe up the underside of his cock, and can see the moment he realizes she’s touching herself. He clenches his teeth, body still rocking from the force of her fingers.

“_Close,_” he hisses. A pang of affection hits her; it's always her own pleasure that tips Dimitri over the edge. So caring, even when allowed to be selfish.

Hand sore, Byleth pumps her fingers into him as quickly as she's able, quirking them upwards punishingly. A chorus of _ ah ah ah _intoxicates her as she rubs at herself, as she noses at the base of Dimitri’s cock.

“You're doing so well, taking me so well,” she murmurs, unable to help herself. He shivers, back arching off the bed, and she marvels at the sight. Such power, helpless under her -- it always makes her feel a kind of drunken pleasure. He keens, panting in the way that means he’s almost there. Byleth redoubles her efforts.

She tongues up his cock, and takes as much of him as she can in one swoop, pressing against his sweet spot hard and long. Dimitri spasms, yelling with the force of his pleasure, and spills down her throat pulse by pulse. She guides him through it, pushing into him relentlessly and hollowing her cheeks out, taking every last drop. 

Her eyes water and she throbs as she pops off of him, panting. He trembles bodily, and says something like “_Mrrgh._”

Byleth collapses next to him. He makes quite the sight; spent and boneless, sunken into the bed as if he belongs here. She's still not used to the taste in her mouth, but knowing that it was Dimitri, that it was her husband -- it makes her pant. Both hands are covered in slick, now, of different sorts. 

Dimitri regains enough consciousness to turn towards her. He smiles at her, dazed and adoring. Byleth pleads with her eyes.

His hand trails down to join hers, circling around her clit with alternating pressure. It’s easy to get her off, the image and press of her husband fresh in her mind as she crests the peak. 

Her ears ring, but she seeks out Dimitri’s gaze. He still looks blissed-out, barely-there, and as she melts into the mattress so, too, does he.

They lay in silence for a while, catching their breath. The air smells of sex. 

Byleth laughs.

Dimitri is watching her, and Byleth’s giggles fade into a big smile. In a swift movement, she turns, throwing her limbs over her husband and hunching into him. He puts his arm around her immediately, stroking her back gently.

He looks so fond, but also very, very confused. “What is it, my love?”

She shakes her head. Her legs still tingle. “Nothing,” she says, and she means it. She peppers kisses onto his cheek, and revels in his baritone joy. 

His smile is so wide his eye is hardly open. “I love you.”

“And I you.” Another quick peck. “My love.”

If she could stay in a moment forever, this one would be quite the contender.

...But she has to. “So, how do you feel about taking me?” Her tone is deadpan, but her eyes twinkle.

Dimitri laughs, face beet red. “I- Good.”

She ruffles his hair. “Good boy.”

His sputtering is as music to her ears.


End file.
